Chapter 35 Verena's vanity
Chapter 35 Verena's vanity
In her private room, Verena, sat in front of a bronze mirror, she was wearing silk that felt too hot for the afternoon. Her fingers adorned with rings that had grown loose on her thinning hands.
“It's dull,” Verena hissed, looking at her reflection, pulling at a lock of her hair. “Jaxon promised me the radiance of the sun, and yet it looks like I've been living in a prison.”
“Where are the jewelers? Where are the merchants from the east?”
“My lady,” her handmaiden, Mia, whispered. She was trying to pin a strand of hair that simply wouldn't stay still.
“The merchants, they haven't crossed the borders in weeks. They say the roads are treacherous. They say the pack can no longer guarantee their safety.”
Verena turned around, her eyes flashing. “Treacherous? My mate is the Alpha. He's the sovereign of the south. If the merchants are afraid.”
“Then I will tell Jaxon to hang a few of them from the gate to remind them of their manners. I want the white fox fur from the high ridge. And I want the star sapphire necklace now.”
“But the grain store.”
“I don't eat grain, Mia,” Verena snapped, slamming her hand so hard that a jar of expensive cream fell over, pouring on the floor.
“I am carrying the future of this pack. If the commoners have to tighten their belt for my happiness, then let them. My children will not be born in a house that looks like a shack.”
“Tell the treasurers to release the gems. I will not be seen in last season's rags while the world whispers."
The door creaked open and a man wearing tattered gray robes came into the room. He was the pack seer, a man whose eyes had been clouded by cataracts for decades, making him look as though he was permanently looking at a thick fog.
“The goddess is weeping, Lady Verena.” Authur said, his voice sounding like dry bones.
Verena didn't even turn around. “Oh, save the drama for the council, Authur. I'm in no mood for your riddles. My skin is dry, my hair is brittle, and I want something that sparkles. Do you have a vision for that?”
Authur moved closer, the scent of stale herbs clinging to him. “Your vanity is a shield against the truth, but even shields break.”
“The blight is not a natural rot, it is a hunger. The goddess has withdrawn her favor because the south has become empty.”
Verena looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Empty? We have the strongest warrior, the most gold.”
“You have no anchor,” Authur said, a crocked knowing smile touching his lips. He knew how to play on her greed. He knew that to get what he wanted, he had to make her think that it was her idea.
“But there is a way to fix it, a way to restore your beauty, to make the sun shine on the field.”
Verena sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “Go on,”
“I have seen a new prophecy,” Authur lied, his voice hypnotic. “The goddess demands the north frost iron. It is a metal forged in the heart of the dead land, carrying the core heat of the world.”
“If it is brought to the south and forged into a crown for the Alpha's mate, the blight will go. Your children will be born with the strength of giants and your skin, my lady, will glow like the moon itself.”
Verena's eye glazed over as she imagined it, a crown of frost iron. A crown no other woman in the south could claim.
“Frost iron,” she whispered, “is it beautiful?”
“It is the very essence of power,” Authur promised, “but it is rare, it is hidden. It can only be given.”
Verena stood up, “Mia, fetch my velvet cloak. I need to find Jaxon.”
#. #. #. #. #.
The great hall was filled with the voice of arguing wolves. “The wolves can't shift, jaxon,” Elder Kane was shouting. “Their bones are becoming like glass. If we are attacked now…”
The door bursts open. Verena marched in, her head held high, ignoring the startled look of the council members. She went straight to Jaxon.
“Jaxon,” she said, “the council can wait. “The seer has spoken.”
Jaxon rubbed his temple, his eyes red. “Verena, not now. The field is turning to ash. I don't have time for…”
“You have time for our survival.”
She interrupted, leaning over the table. “Authur has had a vision. The Goddess has told him how to stop the blight. She has told him how to save our children.”
The room went silent. The council members looked at each other, a desperate hope flickering in their eyes.
“What did he see?” Jaxon asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Verena leaned in, her eyes wide. “He saw the North's frost iron. He says it's connected to the earth's heat. If you can get it, Jaxon, and bring it here.”
“The Goddess will return her favor. The sun will bloom again. The wolves will be able to shift. That’s the only way.”
Jaxon frowned. He didn't understand the signs of the land, but he understood the concept of a magical cure.
“Frost iron,” Jaxon turned to Elder kane “where is the metal found? Our mines are empty.”
“It is not our mines. Alpha,” Kane said. “It lies in the neutral veins, deep within the dead lands.”
“It is the metal that guards the border of the north. It is difficult to find and harder to harvest, but the Mad King would have an idea of where it is located.”
“The dead lands,” Jaxon murmured.
“Jaxon, look at me,” Verena said, taking his hands. “Do you want to rule over a graveyard? Do you want our heirs to be born weak and blue? Get the iron for us. For the pack.”
Jaxon looked at his council. He saw their desperation and their fear. “Fine,” Jaxon said.
“If the goddess wants the northern frost iron, she shall have it. We will not wait for the blight to take over our land. I will send a message to the Mad King to demand for the frost iron.”
Elder brock asked, “if the Mad King doesn't answer to our demands.”
“If the Mad King doesn't answer, then we have no other option than to march,” Jaxon spat.
“We are going to collect the iron from the land, and if the Mad King tries to stop us, they will find out that the southern sun still has enough heat to melt bones
#. #. #. #. #.
The wind howling through the mountain pass was unlike anything Boyce had ever felt in the south. In the shadow fang pack the wind was a warm caress that smelled of blooming jasmine and dry earth.
Here it was a rough edge of glass, carving into his skin and freezing the very moisture in his nostrils. Boyce pulled his heavy cloak tight around his shoulders, though it did little to stop the bone deep cold.